


the all-seeing sun ne'er saw his match

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Series: fire & powder [20]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Eskel (The Witcher), Canon-Typical Violence, Cult of Kate, Flirting, Frottage, Introspection, Kissing, M/M, Monster of the Week, Nipple Piercings, Oral Sex, Piercings, Praise Kink, Riding, Rimming, Ruthlessly Cherry-Picked Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27987186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: He finds himself kicking Scorpion into a trot, just to get to the next city a little faster. He misses their bard.Eskel and Jaskier begin their first year on the Path together.(Rating and tags will update with each chapter - see notes.)
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: fire & powder [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698274
Comments: 231
Kudos: 328





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> short update to start the next fic! i've been excited about this one for a while now, too, so :D
> 
> this one has a few chapters and two of those are porn. i'll warn before and around as usual!

Eskel’s only solace in having to watch Geralt ride away is knowing Geralt is as upset about it as he is.

It’s hardly the first time they’ve met on the Path and then had to split up again, but it’s never been easy to do. And Eskel swears it’s gotten harder and harder each year, each meeting. That’s Jaskier’s fault, really – prior to the way he crashed into their lives and refused to leave, he and Geralt had...well, not kept each other at arm’s length, but something close to it.

Now, though, so many years after Jaskier turned all of them on their heads, it’s much different.

But no matter how much he doesn’t  _ want _ to watch Geralt ride away, they can’t stay together. They have their duties to the Path, and Geralt to Ciri. And Eskel promised to watch after Jaskier in his place; by this point in the year, the bard is likely already deep into court appearances and competitions, and that means Eskel needs to travel further south.

He sighs, shaking his head, and once Geralt is just a dot on the horizon, swings up onto Scorpion’s back and rides out himself.

It’s quiet, alone on the backroads, but it’s nothing he’s not used to, and Scorpion makes plenty of huffing commentary on everything. All the same, it feels different this year; he’s not sure if it’s because of the disruption to his usual circuit, or if it’s because he’s anticipating meeting up with Jaskier.

Maybe both, really.

There’s a surprising lack of contracts as he travels southward and then west once more, headed toward the bigger cities that line the Pontar in the direction of Oxenfurt. He hopes that he’ll hear word of Jaskier before he reaches the Academy, or even run into the bard himself, but he knows Oxenfurt is as likely a location as any so soon after the winter. (He’d heard Jaskier’s murmuring about returning to the school for something or other before winter had ended.)

The lack of work, though, means he has a lot of time to just...think.

It happens, sometimes, on the Path; slow weeks, months, where all he really can do is philosophize – either because he’s between towns and there really is nothing else to do, or because it’s slow and he doesn’t have the money for other exploits.

He thinks about Geralt, of course. And Jaskier, and Lambert – all of them, really. But he keeps circling back to the last winter; the fights, yes, but more specifically the  _ aftermath. _ He remembers thinking about how they were all softer around Jaskier, early on in the season, and it’s still true, but between Geralt and Jaskier something changed.

For the better, thank fuck.

Geralt has always been different around Jaskier. More talkative, for one, and more open in general – they way Eskel only ever saw Geralt around  _ him, _ once upon a time. The fact that Geralt is able to be like that with someone else – a human, no less – makes something as roaring and hot as the kitchen fire at Kaer Morhen take up residence in Eskel’s chest. But after the drama of the previous year, and the hardship of the start of their winter respite, it had changed again.

After everything, Geralt’s demeanor toward Jaskier had softened even more. He was...open, yes, but more than that, he was clearly making a willing choice to be vulnerable, in a way he’s rarely ever been outside of desperate moments. And Jaskier had responded to that, subconsciously or not – Jaskier talks about Eskel like he’s the sun, but Eskel is of the opinion that the sun among them is  _ Jaskier. _

Seeing Jaskier so content, happy and affectionate and chaotic in turns, like usual, after the first of their winter, had been a relief like Eskel’s never experienced before. Even after so many years, he could watch the way Jaskier and Geralt’s relationship deepened, and it filled him with joy, seeing the two of them so close.

Of course, there was an effect on the rest of them, too. Jaskier isn’t the only one Geralt allowed himself to be more vulnerable with, and while Eskel couldn’t know exactly how that translated for Lambert or Vesemir, he knows how it was for him. 

Like coming home properly, for the first time in years. Eskel hadn’t even realized there was something missing until suddenly they had it again. He knows, too, that as usual, it’s Jaskier they can thank for it. Certainly, Lambert’s beating and Eskel’s lashing and whatever Vesemir did paved the way – but Jaskier did the hard work. Several days of it, in fact.

He finds himself kicking Scorpion into a trot, just to get to the next city a little faster. He misses their bard.


	2. chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaskier is bored out of his mind._
> 
> Jaskier hears a rumor, and meets up with Eskel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloooo, i make no promises about this fic being updated every sunday and wednesday but currently i have the spoons so have another chapter :D

Jaskier is bored out of his mind.

Of course, there’s plenty around to  _ do, _ but he’s not allowed to partake in any of it right now, because he’s technically performing.

_ Technically, _ because another one of the performer’s has caught the Lady’s attention and is being asked to play solo after solo.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal, really, even the boredom, except that Jaskier can’t even get drunk to pass the time. He’d gotten this invite to perform all on his own merits, but it had ended up being a fortuitous assignment, because one of Lilia’s contacts who had helped find Renfri needed information from this court. 

He’d refused money, and as much as Jaskier isn’t a huge fan of agreeing to do favors, this one was simple and immediately available to be done, so he’d agreed. 

Thus: he’s bored, standing to the side of a stage so he can listen to the servants gossip as they pass, and he can’t drink about it. There’s been nothing interesting in the gossip so far – either for the contact he’s doing a favor or for himself, since he’s still keeping track of anything that could be news of Renfri – and he’s tempted to strike up conversation with some of the attendees. Never mind that that’s  _ never _ a good idea, because he usually ends up in ill-advised affairs doing that.

Luckily for him, the gossip finally decides to get interesting just as he’s reached the end of his rope.

Not interesting regarding the information he’s looking for, but interesting nonetheless.

“The Lord sent word for a Witcher, I heard,” one of the servants is murmuring to her friend. “He’s desperate for the killings to stop.”

“He must be,” her friend says back, gathering dirtied dishes in her apron. “He hates Witchers.”

Jaskier slides to the side of them smoothly. “May I ask which Lord is in need of a Witcher?”

The first one regards him suspiciously. “You don’t have yours, bard,” she says, and Jaskier has to laugh at that.

Being so recognizable as  _ Witcher’s Bard _ never gets any less funny, really, even when it’s annoying or pleasing as well. 

“No,” he nods. “But I am meant to be meeting up with him.”

A lie, but it’s not as if these ladies would care to know that there’s more than one Witcher that Jaskier keeps the company of. 

“Lord Renaud,” the second one finally answers, shifting her full apron. “He’s master over a hamlet a day’s ride west of here. Often a guest of our Lord, but not recently, because….”

“Because a monster has been plaguing his people,” Jaskier finishes when she pauses. “Yes, of course. Thank you, ladies.” He gives them a bow; the first huffs and shakes her head while the second flushes, but they skirt around him and go back to their duties.

The rest of the night is just as boring as it began, even once he’s able to perform again, but there’s a pep in his step. After all, either he’ll finally meet up with Eskel, or he’ll get to see another Witcher – one he knows or one he doesn’t, either is an exciting prospect.

* * *

He arrives at Lord Renaud’s court before any Witcher has arrived, and so decides to ingratiate himself with the people and court for lack of better things to do.

Because of that, though, he finds out some important information, things he knows will help whatever Witcher the Lord hires. And more, he finds out that Lord Renaud plans to short the Witcher on payment, no matter the outcome of the hunt.

Obviously, he won’t be letting that happen. But knowing means he can be more prepared for it.

Two days after Jaskier arrives, there’s finally word of a Witcher riding into town. One of the barmaids of the tavern he’s been haunting comes and lets him know, since it’s not exactly a secret that Jaskier is here entirely to see a Witcher.

He spots the commotion at the mouth of the road that leads out of the market square, a gaggle of Lord Renaud’s men and a few local children creating a muddle as the Witcher rides up.

Jaskier recognizes Scorpion immediately, even before he can properly see the Witcher on his back. Eskel looks good, though, when he does finally come close enough. Strong and still holding on to most of his winter weight, no clear injuries, and his expression is neutral despite the clamor that greets him.

He struts across the square with an arm raised. “Master Witcher!” he shouts, and he sees the way Eskel raises a brow before he dismounts, but the Witcher seems to catch on to the fact that Jaskier is pretending not to know him.

“And you are?” he asks.

“Jaskier the Bard.” He bows with a wink. “I’m certain my fame precedes me?”

“Infamy, more like,” Eskel chuckles, and the tone in his voice is annoyed, but Jaskier catches the way his eyes are sparkling. 

He wants to leap into Eskel’s arms and kiss him senseless, but now’s not the time, and also, there  _ is _ a point to his game. Lord Renaud’s first plan to underpay was, after all, based around Jaskier – he’d expected Jaskier to know the Witcher, and thus be able to suggest that Jaskier share the coin the Lord had already paid him for his performances.

If he doesn’t know the Witcher, well, then the Lord can’t use that excuse.

He’ll almost definitely try to weasel out of it, still. Planning to claim insufficient proof of the monster’s death – his second plan that Jaskier had overheard, and a common one. Jaskier has a solution for that one, too, but not one he can suggest until he and Eskel are alone.

Meanwhile, Eskel has turned back to Lord Renaud’s men. “I heard word that your Lord was looking to hire a Witcher,” he says, and the clear leader of the group nods.

“Yes, the word is true,” he says, scowling slightly. His address is missing the usual honorific, too, which makes Jaskier’s fists clench – even  _ he’d _ been called Master, when introduced, and fame aside, he’s a travelling bard of unknown stock. Eskel is a professional, and this little hamlet  _ needs _ him. “I assume you’re here to accept?”

“If I am able,” Eskel answers, diplomatically cold, and Jaskier represses a shiver. He realizes suddenly that he’s never actually gotten to see Eskel work, and just as suddenly he’s  _ thrilled _ about being able to now. 

Jaskier claps to interrupt the scowling tableau in front of him. “Shall we go to the Lord, then?” he suggests.

“We?” Lord Renaud’s man asks, sneering. “You’re not needed, bard.”

“Hm, needed, no, but I’m coming – after all, everyone here knows I specialize in Witchers. I’d like to be able to write a winning ballad about this battle. A little new inspiration never hurts. Do you have any objection,  _ Master _ Witcher?” 

Eskel is clearly biting back a laugh, judging by the crinkles around his eyes, but his expression remains mostly neutral. He shrugs one shoulder. “Of no importance to me,” he says, and then gestures to the group of men. “Shall we?”

“...fine.”   
  


* * *

Lord Renaud looks thrilled to see Jaskier come in with his men and Eskel. Jaskier holds back on his biting words and instead goes for  _ lovable idiot. _ For now, at least.

“My lord,” he says, cheery. “This Witcher has agreed to hear out your plea,  _ and _ to let me write a song about it.”

“...this witcher,” Lord Renaud says, expression falling a little. “...yes, well. What’s your name, Witcher?”

Eskel gives Jaskier a quick, confused look, one Jaskier knows the others in the room won’t catch. He shakes his head subtly, and Eskel responds to the question. “Eskel.”

“Eskel…?” Renaud prompts. “Of?”

“Of nowhere,” Eskel says, simple and firm.

He gets a squinted look for that, but the Lord seems to accept it. “Well, I don’t know what kind of monster it is,” he says. “But it started out killing livestock on stormy nights and recently it’s moved to people. Young women, mostly, but others, too.”

Eskel hums. “You’re able to retrieve the bodies?”

“Some of them.”

“Is all of this happening in a localized area, or is it scattered?”

“Localized to the south end of the land, by the river.”

“And the attacks are always when it’s storming?”

Renaud shrugs one shoulder. “At first. Recently, though, it’s usually early morning or late at night, not necessarily tied to the weather.”

“Anything else happening at the same times? Disembodied voices, unusual silences, lights in the water?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Another hum. “Any recent victims I can look at?”

“Last was three days ago, the body was by the river,” one of Renaud’s men pipes up. “Family hasn’t buried him yet.”

“Do you think they’d let me look at the body?”

The man shrugs. “Maybe.”

“So you’ll take it?” Renaud asks, and despite his clear distaste, he does sound desperate. 

“I will. After we discuss price.”

Jaskier muffles a snicker by pretending to cough. Aside from taking note of the amount agreed upon, he mostly tunes out the haggling, instead studying Eskel.

His original assessment was right; Eskel looks good, not too skinny or like he’s been injured recently, and his clothes and armor are still in good repair. His hair and skin are clean, and there’s no bags under his eyes or exhaustion in the way he moves.

He has a fleeting thought that he hopes Geralt will look this good next time they see one another, but pushes it aside as they’re shuffled out. One of the men gives Eskel directions to the family home of the last victim, and then they’re politely kicked out of the manor. Scorpion is waiting for them outside, looking bored.

It takes a bit of willpower, but he has to wait until they’re out of earshot to speak. Eskel is giving him side-eyed looks as they walk, clearly just waiting for him to start rambling and a little confused about the lack of chatter. Jaskier grins to himself.

Finally they make it far enough that Jaskier is certain they’re safe.

“He’s going to try and shaft you on payment,” he says, and Eskel snorts.

“Of course he is,” Eskel nods. “I could tell before I even met him.”

Jaskier tips his head in acknowledgment. “His original plan was to suggest I shared what he’s paid me to perform. He expected me to know you.”

“Which you do,” Eskel chuckles, “but you’re a conniving little thing and pretended not to.”

Jaskier shrugs. “You deserve to get paid in full for your services, and no, I will not be hearing arguments. I know all of them by now and I have perfect logic to win every single one.”

Eskel’s chuckling turns into a full laugh at that. “I imagine you do,” he says, grinning wide, and Jaskier feels his chest flutter.

“Come here,” he mutters, grabbing Eskel’s arm and tugging him off the road into a thicket of trees. By now they’re out of sight of the manor, too, so he doesn’t even think twice about it, and Eskel comes easily with the pull, grin turning into a smirk. Scorpion, for his part, snorts and wanders a little way down the road to munch on some grass.

“I missed you,” Jaskier announces, pushing Eskel up against a tree.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” Eskel rumbles back.

The kiss they share is slow and deep and Jaskier shudders clear to his toes. Eskel grins into it and wraps a staying arm around his waist. When it finally breaks, Eskel buries his face into Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier lets him, shifting his arms so he can pet through his hair. It’s shorter than it was at the end of winter, he must have gotten it cut between then and now, but there’s still enough for Jaskier to bury his fingers in.

They stay there for a bit, just clinging to one another, until finally Eskel sighs and pulls back. He looks as reluctant as Jaskier feels.

“Need to go see that body,” he says. Jaskier frowns but nods, pressing a kiss to Eskel’s scarred cheek before he steps back. 

“Come on, then,” he says. “The sooner the monster is dead, the sooner I can write a fame-worthy ballad about the Golden Wolf, hm?”

Eskel snorts. “Golden, hm?” he asks, and Jaskier winks. “Sure.”

* * *

Jaskier goes in to inspect the corpse of the last victim with Eskel, entirely because his presence clearly puts the family at ease. He doesn’t know as much as Eskel does, obviously, but he knows enough that right off he can cross some monsters off his own internal list of possibilities upon seeing the wounds. 

Eskel is silent while he looks, inspecting a few of the wounds by leaning in and sniffing subtly. He’s frowning when he finally replaces the shroud.

“Has anyone in town been hearing voices during the storms or at night?” he asks

The boy’s mother shakes her head. “Nothin’ I’ve heard. But I don’t gossip much.”

Eskel hums. “Thank you for letting me look,” he says. “May he rest well.”

Jaskier’s chest tightens at the sheer sincerity in Eskel’s voice. He’s heard the same in Geralt’s, of course, but the depth of empathy his Witchers maintain for a world that hates them more often than not never fails to make him emotional. 

“Any ideas?” Jaskier asks, once they’re down the road a bit from the home.

Eskel shrugs. “Best guess is foglets, but there’s usually reports of voices and strange lights. ‘Spose it’s not impossible to have foglets without them, it’s just odd.”

Jaskier hums. “Could be another necrophage, couldn’t it?” he asks.

There’s a pause while Eskel thinks. “Possible, but the carnage would be worse, usually. Might just have to go out at night and find out, but I thought I’d ask some more questions around town first.”

“Of course,” Jaskier nods. “I’ve made some fast friends at the tavern, and I’m sure the barkeep wouldn’t object to a performance tonight.”

“Do they ever, from you?” Eskel asks, grinning, and Jaskier flushes lightly.

“Not in years, darling,” he answers. 

Eskel chuckles and bumps their shoulders together. Even just that little touch makes Jaskier feel warm from his head to his toes.

The tavern isn’t very busy when they arrive, though that makes sense seeing as it’s barely afternoon. Jaskier is greeted warmly by the barkeep and the barmaid from earlier, though they’re both clearly a little cautious of the Witcher at his side. He notices the way that Eskel tips his face away, so that his scars aren’t as visible, and his chest aches.

When this monster is dealt with and Eskel has been paid, they can travel on and find an inn to spend a few days in. Jaskier intends to properly catch up with his lover before it’s back to business as usual, and somehow he thinks Eskel will be much easier to convince than Geralt ever is. 

He has  _ plans. _

“Two ales, please,” Jaskier orders, perching himself on a barstool. Eskel follows suit, though he still keeps his face angled, and his voice is very, very gentle when he thanks the barmaid. Jaskier frowns, and when the two of them have moved on to other things, bumps against Eskel’s side.

“You’re not monstrous,” he murmurs. 

Eskel hums and takes a long drink of his ale. “Matter of opinion,” he murmurs back. “They still scare people, that won’t ever change.”

Jaskier’s frown deepens. “I’ve been slacking,” he states. “ _ Toss A Coin _ did a lot, but clearly not enough.”

“Jaskier,” Eskel says, and Jaskier doesn’t have to look at him to know the Witcher is rolling his eyes. “It’s fine.”

“I’m going to have to  _ vehemently  _ disagree with you there, love,” Jaskier says airily, and this time he gets to watch Eskel rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” Eskel finally says, clearly surrendering. “But save it til after this hunt, hm? And don’t get in any fights if someone  _ does _ take issue with me.”

“I absolutely will not promise that.”

“Of course you won’t.”

* * *

As the late afternoon crowd starts to filter in, Jaskier speaks to the barkeep and sets up to play near the hearth. Eskel stays at the bar for a bit, watching, and then migrates over to a table. Not the corner, but still one with a clear sight of the whole tavern and a wall to his back. Jaskier grins down at his lute.  _ Predictable Witchers. _

He keeps half an eye on Eskel as he performs, and he sees when Eskel realizes he’s singing a very specific set of them. The Witcher rolls his eyes to the heavens, but when he looks back at Jaskier again, he’s smiling, a small, private thing that sends a bolt of heat through Jaskier’s gut. He pointedly ignores it and keeps performing, noting absently as Eskel speaks to random patrons.

By the time he decides to take a break, Eskel has ordered them both dinner. He pushes the untouched plate over toward Jaskier and gestures to the tankard of ale on his off side, and Jaskier has to resist the urge to kiss the Witcher’s cheek.

Ultimately, it probably wouldn’t be seen as that odd, if he did. But he technically has to keep up the charade of not actually knowing Eskel for at least as long as it takes to kill the monster, and kisses are probably a little too familiar for the act. No matter how loose his reputation is.

“Any luck?” Jaskier asks after practically inhaling half his dinner. Eskel chuckles. 

“Some. There have been some voices heard, but not with every attack, just some.”

“That fits foglets better, right?”

“It does. And rules out most other necrophages, too.”

“But?” Jaskier prompts, because he can hear the hesitation in Eskel’s voice.

“The wounds don’t match,” he says slowly. “But the change from livestock to humans, and then the sped-up timeline of deaths, makes me think something more sentient than foglets. Or that there’s more than one monster.”

“Like what?”

“Vampires are my first instinct,” Eskel shrugs.

“But the wounds don’t match at  _ all. _ ” Jaskier hums thoughtfully. “Prepare for both?”

Eskel nods. “May as well,” he says. “Wouldn’t do to be caught unaware.”

“Tonight, then, or later?”

He gets a shrug. “I wanted to go look at the area before sundown. Not sure what I’ll find, so I can’t say.”

“Fair enough.” Jaskier finishes his meal and his ale and licks his lips. He doesn’t miss the way Eskel tracks the movement. “Alright, back I go. Let me know before you wander off to the river, hm?”

“I will.”

He doesn’t say  _ good boy. _ But it’s a near thing, and from the way Eskel’s eyes flash, he can guess. Jaskier just smirks and winks before flouncing off to play again.

* * *

At one point while Jaskier plays the second half of his set, Eskel stands and goes to the door. He waits pointedly until Jaskier nods at him, and then he disappears. Jaskier shoves aside the niggling worry that constantly lives in his chest when his Witchers aren’t within sight, and keeps playing.

Eskel still hasn’t returned by the time his set winds down, but that’s not particularly worrying, so he just wraps up and orders some more ale before settling back down at the table Eskel had vacated. He’s halfway through that drink when Eskel does return, looking a little pensive but no worse for wear.

Jaskier hums a question when Eskel sits back down next to him, and pushes the remainder of his ale over.

“Definitely foglets,” he says after a drink. “But also definitely something else.”

“Any ideas?”

“Rusalki, probably,” Eskel says, but he’s frowning. “Still doesn’t fit perfectly, but I can tell there’s at least two, maybe three in the area. Didn’t see them, have no idea if they saw me.”

“Well, they’re...not impossible to kill,” Jaskier offers, and Eskel snorts.

“No, but it’s not particularly  _ easy,  _ either. They’re not usually malicious, either, which is what’s strange.”

“Any species has its outliers.”

Eskel hums. “True.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I need to prepare, so I’ll go out tomorrow night,” Eskel says. “Hopefully there’s not any more victims between then and now.”

Jaskier hopes so too. “Well, you can share my room at the inn, then,” he says, matter-of-fact as he stands. He gestures toward the door, and Eskel hums before finishing the ale and following his lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have nothing interesting or clever to say so :D i love you


	3. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I assume telling you to stay behind is a fruitless endeavor.”_
> 
> _“Of course it is, haven’t you ever spoken to Geralt?”_
> 
> Eskel takes on the mystery monster(s).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyyy update. not sure if i actually have spoons or if i'm just slightly manic but either way

Eskel chooses not to sleep right away, even despite Jaskier’s pouting, and so Jaskier goes to bed alone. Eskel is still there, of course, moving around and preparing for the hunt tomorrow, sharpening blades and gathering potions and oils and various other things that Jaskier does, in fact, know the names and purposes of, he just doesn’t care to focus enough on them. 

He’s sleepy, warm and wrapped in clean sheets, but instead of closing his eyes and drifting off, he keeps watching Eskel. The Witcher is currently busy with some sort of alchemy, probably a potion he’s run out of, though Jaskier can’t see the ingredients well enough to know which one, and there’s no bottle ready yet either. He watches lazily as Eskel’s hands move, stunningly graceful for how large they are, candlelight flickering over and making the little scars on them even more obvious than usual.

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, and Eskel doesn’t exactly  _ startle, _ but Jaskier can tell he’s a little caught off guard.

“Thought you were asleep,” Eskel murmurs, quirking a brow. Jaskier snorts.

“No you didn’t,” he says, stretching a little and shifting so he can see Eskel a little better. 

Eskel grins. “No, I didn’t,” he agrees. “You were close, though.”

“Hmm. Will you be coming to bed any time soon?”

His Witcher shrugs one shoulder. “Probably once this is done brewing.”

Jaskier makes a dramatic noise and pouts, which makes Eskel chuckle, exactly as planned. He yawns a little before rolling over onto his back, keeping his head turned so he can still see Eskel, though less now. “Are we headed anywhere specific after this?”

“Are  _ you? _ ”

“No.”

“Then no, we’re not.”

Jaskier grins. “Good.”

Eskel snorts softly. “Good?” he asks. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all, darling,” Jaskier says, turning his head back to blink slowly at the ceiling. He yawns again, and Eskel chuckles.

“Sleep, Jaskier,” he prompts. “I’ll join you soon.”

“Mm. You’d better.”

He drifts off to the soft, rhythmic scraping of a mortar and pestle.

* * *

“I assume telling you to stay behind is a fruitless endeavor.” Eskel says it as he’s gathering his things, preparing to leave the inn and head down to the river, the sun not quite set yet.

“Of course it is, haven’t you ever spoken to Geralt?”

Eskel snorts. “Yes,” he nods. “Certainly, by now, though, you know how to stay out of danger?”

“Oh, mostly,” Jaskier smirks. Eskel rolls his eyes.

Despite the exasperation, though, Eskel’s voice is as soft as the kiss he presses to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. “Be careful, and run if you have to.”

Jaskier’s heart flutters. “Only if I have to,” he says, turning his head to catch Eskel in a proper kiss.

Eskel hums against his mouth, but pulls back and gestures Jaskier toward the door. He grabs his notebook – not his lute, he’d learned his lesson about delicate instruments and river monsters early on – and flits out the door, Eskel hot on his heels.

The Witcher is silent for the walk to the riverbanks, and Jaskier is, too, mostly. He’s humming, trying out different melodies and scratching notes into his journal, but otherwise he’s quiet. Eventually, as they approach the river proper, the light is too low, so he closes the journal and falls back to stuff it into one of the packs on Scorpion’s back. The stallion snorts at him, but nothing else, and he rewards him with a scratch at his ear. 

“Stop,” Eskel says, suddenly, holding an arm out in front of Jaskier’s chest as he catches back up. They’re at the river, now, but still a good dozen feet away from the water itself, standing on the last of the grass before it gives way to the bank proper, silt and sand that Jaskier knows from experience are slippery underfoot. Scorpion stops at the word, too, pawing at the ground with an agitated huff – whatever Eskel has sensed, he likely has, too.

Jaskier freezes, one hand coming up to grasp Eskel’s arm, but only tightly enough to balance himself in case Eskel has to move away quickly. With his other hand, Eskel reaches down and grabs two potions that Jaskier can’t see, downing them in quick succession and dropping the bottles back into his pack with a clink. There’s a beat of silence, and then suddenly there’s fog rolling in, appearing from nowhere over the river.

“Back,” Eskel orders, unsheathing his silver sword with a pitched, metallic sound. Jaskier quickly stumbles back, until he bumps into a tree. The unnatural fog is thickening, advancing quickly, until there’s a flare of magic from Eskel’s palm and it stops suddenly.

The trap doesn’t last long, but apparently that’s fine, because when the purple haze of Yrden fades, Aard follows it, blowing the fog back and revealing a group of foglets, small and hunched and snarling. Almost as soon as Jaskier recognizes the sight of them, Eskel’s sword is there, swinging down and beheading one, catching another deep in the side.

A third and fourth blink out of existence before Eskel can spin toward them, and Jaskier feels his heart rate spike just as the fog comes back. This time, though, it’s accompanied by an equally unnatural wave from the river, and Eskel shouts.

“Jaskier, get back!” 

Jaskier steps to the side and stumbles further back, unable to take his eyes away from the wave as it crashes to the riverbank, water rushing up and  _ nearly _ touching his toes. He steps back farther and searches the area for Eskel, who disappeared when the wave collapsed, and finds him standing in the middle of the river, up to his shoulders and clearly doing – well,  _ something. _ Jaskier can’t see him very well, between the dark and the distance, and he’s not stupid enough to get close to the water again. 

Unfortunately, the fog starts rolling in again, this time from another direction barrelling toward Eskel and the river at frightening speed. Jaskier’s heart jumps into his throat when he hears the deep, rumbling snarl emanating from the fog itself.

All he can do is shout, but luckily it’s enough; Eskel whirls around and a powerful Aard sends whatever he’s fighting in the river and the fog back, and Yrden traps the remaining two foglets at the banks for long enough that Eskel can run them through. 

That leaves whatever is in the river, and Jaskier watches as the water rises again. Eskel spins around from the corpses of the foglets, sword tearing out of them with a sickening sound, and the purple light of Yrden flares again before Eskel is disappearing into the swell of water.

For a slow, sickening minute, there’s nothing more than the sound of the wind and water rushing, and then there’s a blast of water – Aard from underneath, Jaskier would assume, from the flare of light that accompanies it – and a sudden,  _ piercing  _ scream.

Scorpion whineys, loud and sudden, and Jaskier spins around to see him backing up rapidly, but not running. He turns back just in time to see the last swell of water collapse to the shore, revealing a slumped corpse as it rushes away, and Eskel behind it.

The Witcher is panting, sword still held aloft as his eyes dart around, from the corpses at his feet to the other foglet bodies further along and then back. After a few minutes, he seems to finally relax, sword dropping down to point at the ground, and he stomps up out of the river.

“What was your plan to make Lord Renaud pay me, again?” he shouts, voice rough. It startles a laugh out of Jaskier, and then he’s practically wheezing, adrenaline crashing through his system and giving way to an odd giddiness, now that the danger is done away with. 

When he looks back up to Eskel, still standing on the riverbank, waterlogged and a little grey from toxicity, the Witcher is smiling. Jaskier laughs some more.

* * *

It takes a while to arrange all of the corpses onto Scorpion’s back. The stallion seems less than thrilled about the weight and smell, but doesn’t buck or bite, and instead just huffs and turns his head when Eskel tries to pet over his snout.

“Grumpy,” Eskel mutters, turning back to Jaskier. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and waves a hand. “ _ Yes, _ darling. Now, let's get your payment and get back to the inn, hm? You look exhausted. Never mind that I can tell whatever potions you took are no longer doing you any favors.”

“Petri’s Philtre and Killer Whale,” Eskel offers, “and no, the toxicity isn’t great.”

“Any White Honey on you?” Jaskier asks.

“At the inn,” Eskel shrugs one shoulder.

Jaskier rolls his eyes again. “Sign intensity, though, really? Since when have you needed a potion for that?”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Is that because you’re usually overcautious or because I’m here?”

Eskel’s lack of answer is answer enough, and Jaskier rolls his eyes a third time.

“I can take care of myself, Eskel,” he says. “The Path hasn’t killed me yet, it’s going to get me just because you don’t take every single precaution.”

“How well does that logic work on Geralt?”

Jaskier snorts. “Not even a little. But you’re supposed to be the eldest, you should know better.”

“It’s by a few months at the absolute  _ most, _ ” Eskel says, bitten-off laughter in his voice, and Jaskier outright laughs.

“He always says the same thing,” he gasps, leaning on Eskel’s shoulder even as they walk. The Witcher just turns his head a little to grin at him, and wraps a steadying arm around Jaskier’s waist. 

The rest of the walk back into town is quiet, and they separate once there’s a chance of people seeing them and running to the manor. Walking to the manor is equally quiet, though Jaskier begins to hum. Eskel quirks a brow at him, but he just waves it off.

He’s just working out melodies for his next big hit. 

* * *

“What the  _ fuck! _ ” Lord Renaud shouts, high and pitchy, when Eskel drops four dead foglets and a rusalka corpse onto his pristine marble floor.

“Your monsters,” Eskel says, gesturing. “I would demand higher pay, considering, but I think I’ll just take our agreed-upon price.”

Renaud stammers for a moment, going an alarming shade of red. “I – you – you cannot – that – ”

Jaskier casually pulls his dagger out of his doublet, not pointing or threatening, just flipping it between his hands, twirling the handle around his fingers. “I feel this is sufficient proof of a slaying,” he says, pointed, and watches Renaud’s eyes go wide. “Pay the Witcher, and we’ll be on our way. We’ll even take the bodies with us.”

“I – you’re – that’s – ”

A simple flip sends his dagger sailing into the air just for it to flip a couple of times and land handle first into Jaskier’s palm, neat and smooth. “Come on,” he encourages. “Pay the Witcher for his services, and we’ll take the monster corpses out of your manor, be gone in the morning.”

Renaud is still that alarming shade of red. “F-fine! Fine. Albin, go.” He gestures sharply at one of his men and the indicated Albin scrambles away, likely to go grab coin. 

The Lord’s face turns an interesting shade of green to contrast the red when he looks down at the monsters on his floor. “What – what  _ is  _ that?”

“Foglets,” Eskel says, pointing to the small, hunched things with their frightening teeth on perfect display as rigor mortis sets in. “And a rusalka. Or, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Eskel shrugs one shoulder. “Most rusalki don’t keep foglets as pets or habitually kill. And her hair’s wrong.”

Jaskier notices, as he says it, that the rusalka does have an unusual hair color; it’s almost brunette with more red, but still dark enough that in the night and soaked with river water it would appear black. 

Albin finally returns with a bag of coin, and thrusts it out at Eskel. Jaskier reaches forward to snatch it and opens it to count in full view. Renaud stiffens and scowls but doesn’t stop him, and Jaskier sees the minute twitch of Eskel’s mouth in the corner of his eye.

“All here,” he says cheerily, closing the little bag and shoving it into his doublet alongside his dagger. “Shall we?” he asks Eskel, who nods and starts to gather the corpses up again. Jaskier helps situate the rusalka so it won’t fall off Eskel’s shoulder, and together they march back out the gates, to where Scorpion is waiting for them.

“What’ll you do with the bodies?” one of the guard asks, just before they’re outside. Eskel turns to regard him.

“Burn them,” he says. “Easiest way to make sure nothing weird happens.”

“Leave em, then,” the guard jerks his head toward the wall of the manor where it curves away from the gate. “Will be a bonfire tonight.”

Jaskier hums and shrugs when Eskel throws him a look. All the same, the Witcher turns and steps far enough to the side that the bodies won’t disturb the gates before dumping them in a heap on the ground.

“Thank you,” Jaskier nods at the guard, who hums and nods.

“Thank you, Master Bard, Master Witcher,” he says, with a slight bow. Eskel looks taken aback, but merely copies the bow silently, then turns and whistles for Scorpion.

Jaskier gives the guard his most winning smile and then follows his Witcher.

* * *

By the time they make it back to the inn, Eskel doesn’t really need the White Honey anymore, but he’s still exhausted and a little gray around the edges, so Jaskier takes it upon himself to order food and a bath sent up to them. The innkeeper looks a little wary, but agrees and takes his coin, so he figures it’s fine.

“You really don’t need to – ”

“Do you really think that will work, Eskel?” Jaskier teases.

The Witcher sighs. “No,” he admits. “But really.”

“Let me take care of you. Even Geralt has mostly surrendered to this, after so many years.”

Eskel snorts, and steps closer when Jaskier gestures, letting him begin to pick at buckles and laces. “I’ll bet he still complains.”

“Oh, of course he does, that’s practically part of the ritual. Turn around.” 

Slowly, Jaskier gets all of Eskel’s armor off, and then starts on his clothes, until he’s finally out of everything. He tosses the pile of sopping fabric and leather into a corner to be dealt with later, and then shuffles Eskel into the bath. Once the Witcher is settled, humming happily at the heat, he bustles about grabbing soaps and oils.

“Got anything for your song?” Eskel asks when Jaskier settles on a low stool behind him.

Jaskier hums. “Some,” he says. “You are quite dashing in the thick of battle, love.”

The Witcher snorts and cracks one eye open to peer at Jaskier above him. Jaskier just grins down at him and uses the angle to pour water over Eskel’s hair. “It’s true,” he continues. “You fight differently than Geralt. Which, obviously, but it’s different out here than when you’re sparring in the winter. You two are similar enough that it’s not too noticeable, when it’s just the training. Not the same in real battle.”

Eskel’s eye closes again as Jaskier starts to lather soap into his hair. “What’s different?” he asks.

“You use the Signs more,” Jaskier says, because it’s the biggest difference. “And your movements are...wider? I’m not sure how else to describe it.”

“I’m not as agile as him,” Eskel murmurs. “Wider is right.”

Jaskier hums and finishes lathering his hair. With a gentle tap at his forehead, he gets Eskel to tip his head back again to rinse, and sets to massaging in a number of oils. Eskel just lets him, pliable and content, eyes closed as he makes soft, content little sounds. Jaskier finds himself smiling.

Leaving the oils to soak, he works up a lather the soap once more and nudges at Eskel’s shoulders to have him sit up. The Witcher grunts but goes, shifting smoothly enough that the water doesn’t even splash, just ripples. Jaskier washes his back, from shoulders to tailbone, and then pushes soap up around the nape of his neck, behind his ears. With everything washed, he hands the soap to Eskel and starts to rinse away the suds, scrubbing lightly with a soft rag. 

Eskel cleans the rest of himself quickly but thoroughly, and then Jaskier helps him rinse the rest of the way, as well as tipping his head back to rinse the excess oils out of his hair. With all of that done, and the time elapsed since the potions, Eskel looks much more himself; there’s still a vague grey tinge to his skin, and his veins are maybe slightly too visible, but the color is mostly back to rights otherwise. 

He helps Eskel dry off, ignoring the Witcher’s quirked brow and eye roll about it. Despite the clear exasperation, Eskel humors him, lifting his arms and legs and turning when directed. Jaskier finds himself smiling again.

“Dinner and then bed?” he asks, gesturing to the tray of food. It’s probably nearly cold by now, but he’s certain they’ve both eaten worse, and really, they can use the hearth to heat it if they really have to.

Or Eskel could use Igni – Jaskier thinks he probably has the control to do it.

“Yeah,” Eskel agrees, going over and pulling a pair of soft breeches from his pack. He doesn’t put anything else on, instead just grabbing the tray and bringing it to the bed before gesturing for Jaskier to join him. Jaskier strips to his smallclothes and does as he’s bid, settling at the head of the bed while Eskel resituates at the end, the tray between them.

They eat in companionable silence, and Jaskier gives Eskel the lion’s share, refusing to eat anything Eskel pushes back to him until finally the Witcher rolls his eyes and accepts. Once the food is reduced to crumbs and broth, Eskel stands and puts it back on the table before practically diving into the bed.

His arms wrap around Jaskier and pull him down into the bed flailing. He snorts a laugh when Eskel practically wraps his entire body around him and clings, but shifts around in the embrace until he’s comfortable.

“Hi,” he mumbles, lips pressed to Eskel’s collarbone.

“Mm,” Eskel rumbles back, and Jaskier grins.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Mhm. Should head out early tomorrow.”

“Probably.”

“Night, Jaskier.” A kiss is pressed to Jaskier’s forehead, and his grin widens.

He presses his own kiss to Eskel’s pulse point. “Night, Eskel.” 

* * *

They’re up with the sun – despite Jaskier’s complaining – and leaving town before it’s even fully risen. Eskel lets Jaskier sit on Scorpion and doze, though, so it’s not too terrible.

By the time he really comes back to, it’s late morning and they’re in the middle of absolute nowhere. Eskel notices he’s awake and stops Scorpion, holding out an arm to help Jaskier dismount.

“Good morning,” he teases, and Jaskier just pulls a face at him.

He wanders off to the edge of the road to relieve himself, then returns to where Eskel is standing in the middle of the road almost cooing at Scorpion. The stallion looks as unimpressed as he usually does, and Jaskier snickers.

“Where are we headed again?” he asks. Eskel shrugs.

“Nowhere in particular, unless you need to be somewhere.”

“Not for a bit, but we should keep heading south.”

“Okay. You want to ride again?”

Jaskier shakes his head and swings his lute forward, plucking out some discordant notes. He grins when Eskel twitches slightly. “No,” he answers. “I’ve got a winning ballad to write, don’t I?”

Eskel just rolls his eyes.

* * *

By the time they stop for a late lunch, Jaskier has got at least a basic melody down for his new ballad, if not anything solid in regard to lyrics. He knows he wants to make it feel like a companion to  _ Toss A Coin, _ and that he’ll call Eskel the  _ Golden Wolf _ to pair with Geralt; aside from that, he’s got some halfhearted rhymes about rivers and fog. And they’re not very good ones.

“Anything?” Eskel asks, and Jaskier grins into his waterskin.

“Mm, not yet,” he says, truthfully. “But I’ll get there. If I’m lucky, I’ll nail it down before the festival in Beauclair and I can debut it there.”

He can tell from Eskel’s expression that the Witcher would be blushing if he could. He smiles and reaches out to brush the backs of his fingers over Eskel’s scars, the touch light as air. Eskel’s lashes flutter a little, and his lip curls into a small smile that Jaskier just has to kiss, so he does.

Eskel accepts the kiss easily, hands draping over Jaskier’s waist naturally. They kiss, mostly chaste, for several minutes, and then Scorpion paws at the ground and huffs.

“What?” Eskel asks, breaking from Jaskier to peer up at his horse. Scorpion just huffs again and tugs at where he’s tied loosely to a tree branch.

Jaskier laughs. “I guess we should move on, hm?”

Eskel sighs, but he’s smiling, too. “I suppose.” He rises gracefully to his feet and holds out a hand, pulling Jaskier up as if he doesn’t weigh anything. 

Mild pain trips up his leg when he shifts his knee, though, and he’s distracted by that. “Ah, shit,” he mutters, leaning a little more heavily onto Eskel’s arm and shifting his knee before standing properly.

When he looks up from brushing his pants off, Eskel is frowning slightly. “What?”

“Are you hurt?”

Jaskier snorts. “No,” he shakes his head. “It’s just – my knees get a little stiff when I sit for long periods. I’m not exactly twenty anymore, love.”

Eskel tips his head in acknowledgement. “You look like you are,” he says. “I almost forget, sometimes.”

“Why, thank you, darling,” Jaskier grins, giving a dramatic bow. “Now, shall we?” He gestures to where Scorpion is giving the both of them the stink eye while he tugs at his lead.

The sight of it makes Eskel snort. “Yeah, yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no thoughts head empty,,,
> 
> next chapter is porn! nothing important in it either, so feel free to skip entirely. i'll warn again on the chapter itself as well.


	4. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Have a review?” he asks as he sits._
> 
> _Eskel snorts. “Not one that’s appropriate for polite company.”_
> 
> Jaskier and Eskel get properly reacquainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pooorrrrrrrn. very soft porn, tbh. these two are Gay™
> 
> after this update i think i'm going to move to posting on just sundays again, partially to give myself a longer buffer to keep writing, and partially because i have sundays off so it's easier to post and such then.

When they arrive in Mirthe, the sun is just beginning to set. Jaskier sets to finding them accommodation while Eskel sees to Scorpion, and in the meantime finds a nice place to perform for the night that’s even willing to give him a meal on the house for it.

He finds Eskel again when he exits the tavern into the street. The Witcher catches sight of him, too, and makes a beeline across the cobbles to him.

“We have a room above,” he says, gesturing behind him before digging into his pocket and producing a key. “They offered a free meal for a performance; you can have it, I’ll eat after I’m done.”

Eskel takes the key. “Alright,” he says, and Jaskier can tell that he wants to lean forward and kiss him. Jaskier smiles, soft, and rubs their shoulders together.

“Go,” he says. “I’ll be here.”

“Alright.”

Jaskier goes back into the tavern after Eskel and makes his way to the bar to explain that the meal will go to the Witcher. The barkeep shrugs and nods, then gestures over to a slightly raised area of the floor where Jaskier can set up. He snags a chair on his way by to perch on, and does just that.

He’s about to begin when Eskel returns from the room, dressed down but still carrying one sword and at least two daggers that Jaskier can spot. Eskel nods at him when their eyes meet, and then settles into a far table. When a barmaid gives Jaskier a pointed look and gestures to Eskel, he nods, and the plate of food and an ale are dropped off.

There’s a meagre crowd that’s growing by the minute, and already some are sitting and looking at him expectantly, so he clears his throat and starts to pluck at his lute. He smiles when some of the onlookers light up in recognition.

He doesn’t pay too much attention to his set, really, just enough to get through it without messing anything up, and he puts the bare minimum into charming the crowd – though they end up fairly charmed all the same, which hasn’t stopped tickling him pink even after years of fame.

As he performs, he keeps catching Eskel’s eye. The Witcher has finished his dinner by about a third of the way through Jaskier’s performance, but he doesn’t make to leave, instead just ordering another ale and settling in to watch. Something about the look in his eyes makes heat settle at the base of Jaskier’s spine. 

Even half-distracted, Jaskier manages to perform well, and his lute case ends up almost heavy with coin by the time he bows out. Eskel is still at the same table, still watching, and Jaskier represses a shiver as he stops by the bar to order more food and then makes his way over.

“Have a review?” he asks as he sits.

Eskel snorts. “Not one that’s appropriate for polite company.”

Jaskier flutters his lashes. “Oh?”

It gets him a low growl. “Later, bard. Eat your food.”

Jaskier shudders, but does as he’s told, practically inhaling his serving. Eskel chuckles as he watches, but doesn’t give any further comment, hooking his boot around Jaskier’s ankle. Jaskier shifts to tangle their legs more fully.

“I like seeing you perform for real,” Eskel murmurs quietly, as Jaskier is finishing up his stew. “But I think I still prefer private performances.”

“Eskel,” Jaskier hisses, and the Witcher just laughs.

“Shall we?” he asks, smirking as he gestures to the stairs. He stands smoothly and holds out a hand to help Jaskier up, and Jaskier takes it, letting the Witcher yank him to his feet.

“Tease,” Jaskier murmurs, right into Eskel’s ear. Eskel sucks in a breath, and Jaskier uses the moment of pause to spin around and head up the stairs.

Eskel is hot on his heels barely a minute later, crowding up against his back as he reaches the landing, big hands wrapping possessively around Jaskier’s hips. It’s maybe a little risky, but their room is right next to the stairs, so he lets Eskel push him over to it, humming when the Witcher has to press even closer to unlock the door. 

It swings open with a quiet creak, and Jaskier nearly falls straight through. Luckily, Eskel’s arm wraps around his waist and snatches him up. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier breathes, once Eskel has closed the door and spun around to press him up against it. Eskel just laughs and ducks his head close, running his nose along Jaskier’s throat. He tips his head back to give him room, shivering at the teasing touch.

“Ordered a bath,” Eskel rumbles after a moment of breathing him in. “Wanna pamper you this time.”

Jaskier hums. “Feel free,” he says. “But I  _ will _ return the favor.”

Eskel chuckles again. “Oh, I figured so.”

They step away from the door, and Jaskier sets to peeling out of his doublet and breeches. Eskel opens the door to the knock a moment later, his body carefully angled to block Jaskier from sight even though he’s still in his smallclothes and an undershirt. 

It’s a surprisingly large bath, so it takes a bit longer to fill, with the staff running back and forth, but it gets done soon enough, and Eskel is pressing a coin into the hands of each maid as they leave. Jaskier sneaks up behind – as much as one  _ can _ sneak up on a Witcher – and wraps his arms around Eskel’s waist as soon as the door is closed.

He presses a kiss between Eskel’s shoulderblades. “You first.”

“Alright.”

He pets over Eskel’s belly for a second before he finally lets go, and the Witcher strips out of his clothes. He’s naked in record time, and Jaskier pauses on his quest to get soap to just admire. Eskel catches sight of his lecherous stare and rolls his eyes, but moves a little slower as he climbs into the bath. Jaskier grins.

So soon after the last bath, Eskel is hardly dirty, but Jaskier doesn’t let that stop him. He washes Eskel’s hair and body thoroughly, and when there’s no more washing to be done, he moves on to just touching, stroking gently over scars both old and new, lighty dragging nails over sensitive spots on Eskel’s chest, his thighs.

Eskel moans softly, a rumbly sound, and turns his head to mouth at Jaskier’s throat. “Your turn,” he murmurs. “Let me up.”

Jaskier levels a pout at him, but just gets a shake of the head, so he stands and strips his remaining clothes off while Eskel climbs out of the bath and pats himself dry.

The water is closer to lukewarm than hot, but a concentrated blast of Igni fixes that quickly. Jaskier sighs as he sinks into the water, letting himself go mostly boneless as he leans back against the edge. Eskel lets him soak for a few minutes before he’s tugging lightly at Jaskier’s hair and pushing at his shoulder to get him to sit up.

Jaskier grumbles, entirely for show, and sits up, tipping his head back and finding Eskel leaning a little forward. Their eyes meet and Jaskier shudders at the heat in his Witcher’s gaze, the love and adoration, too. Water is poured carefully over his head, and strong, soapy fingers follow soon after. Jaskier’s eyes flutter closed slowly as Eskel massages gently at his scalp, scratching lightly behind his ears and at the nape of his neck.

“Pretty,” Eskel murmurs. Jaskier smiles but doesn’t open his eyes.

“Catch sight of yourself in the mirror?” he asks. It’s a tease but it’s also not, and from the quiet huff and gentle pull at his hair, Eskel knows that. 

The water pouring over Jaskier’s head again to rinse makes him shiver, and Eskel’s hand comes to rest on the curve of his neck, fingers settling softly over his throat. He swallows and feels the way that Eskel presses back against the motion, just a little. Another shiver rocks through him.

Eskel is just as thorough with the oils as he was the soap. Jaskier moans softly at the tingling pleasure of the Witcher’s blunt nails raking through his hair, and hears Eskel hum quietly. It’s a remarkably content sound.

He gets a wash just as thorough as he gave, though the fondling starts earlier. He giggles when Eskel ghosts fingers over his nipple, then moans when it happens again and turns into a gentle pinch this time. Eskel hums again and the touch meanders down, stroking over Jaskier’s ribs and belly and then his hip before curving back in to cup his balls.

“ _ Ah, _ ” he gasps, cock jerking in the water as his thighs twitch. “Eskel.”

All he gets in response is a sweet kiss pressed to his cheek. The Witcher massages his balls and the base of his cock for a moment before that hand is slipping further down, one rough fingertip petting over Jaskier’s hole. 

“Oh, yes, please,” Jaskier groans, and Eskel laughs lightly, pressing another sweet kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, and on down his neck. 

“Bed?” Eskel asks, still petting little circles around Jaskier’s rim. Jaskier whimpers and nods.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, half-breathless. Eskel leaves him with one quick, teasing stroke to his cock, and he grunts in frustration before practically launching himself out of the water.

Eskel catches him with a towel, wrapping it and his arms around Jaskier’s body. Jaskier gives up a token struggle, but ultimately melts into the searing kiss Eskel plants on him. It breaks off quickly, though, as Eskel bends to finish patting him dry and then directs them to the bed.

Jaskier stumbles, but Eskel just laughs and uses the slip to pick him up, turning so he falls back onto the bed. They both grunt when Jaskier lands on top of him with a little bounce, but Eskel is still laughing, so Jaskier just snorts and ducks down to kiss him again.

This one is slow, but no less scorching for it; Eskel’s fingers dig into his ribs, his hips, and Jaskier just clings to his shoulders, thighs squeezing around his waist. 

“Gorgeous,” he gasps when the kiss breaks, mouthing over Eskel’s scars clumsily. Eskel growls softly and uses his tight grip on Jaskier’s hips to shove him down, until their hips are better aligned. The first little roll makes Jaskier throw his head back with a gasp, and Eskel takes the opportunity to lean up and suck a mark right over his pulsepoint. “ _ Fuck, _ Eskel.”

Eskel just hums in reply, leaving the hickey he’s sucked to the surface with a sharp little nip. “Jaskier,” he rumbles back, rolling his hips a little harder. Jaskier groans at the friction, thighs squeezing again.

“Fuck, I forget how big you are sometimes,” he mumbles, already half-mindless. He’d had plans and Eskel sabotaged them without even trying, just some heavy petting and a few kisses. 

Jaskier can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed; it’s mostly just fucking hot. 

“Gonna ride you,” he bites out eventually, shuddering when Eskel slides a hand back to tease between his cheeks. “Fuck, yeah.”

Eskel chuckles and leans far enough up to mouth at Jaskier’s nipple, petting over his hole with a single finger again. Dry, now, the friction rides the edge of  _ too much _ and Jaskier whimpers.

“Ah, ah,” he gasps, words failing him every time Eskel grinds their cocks together. “Oh – oil! Oil.”

That gets another chuckle, but Eskel lays back down, stretching one arm back and to the side a little. When he pulls it back, he’s holding a little pack – Jaskier hadn’t even seen it was there. The oil is fished out quickly and the pack tossed back to the floor.

He tries to grab the vial, but Eskel snatches it out of reach. “Let me,” he says, looking so earnest and wanting all at once that the only option Jaskier has is to agree. 

“Hurry,” he whines.

“We have all night, sweetheart.”

“And I want to fuck you more than once.  _ Hurry. _ ”

Eskel snorts, but opens the vial and coats his fingers before fumbling it closed again. “Greedy.” 

All the same, he doesn’t tease when his slick hand presses back between Jaskier’s cheeks. One finger circles his hole once, twice, and then the tip is sinking inside, a slow and inexorable stretch that makes Jaskier shiver and whimper. 

“Eskel, Eskel, Eskel,” he chants. The Witcher just hushes him wordlessly and starts to move, thrusting that one finger for a handful of minutes before a second joins it, and then a third.

By the time the third stops stinging, Jaskier is desperate, riding back against the press of Eskel’s knuckles at his rim. “Please, please,” he gasps, and Eskel grunts into his chest.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbles, and his fingers disappear. There’s a pause while he slicks his cock and Jaskier just vibrates in his lap, but then there’s a hand on his hip and he’s being guided back.

The first press makes Jaskier hiss, but he jerks his hips against Eskel’s hold when the Witcher stops. “More,” he demands, glaring hazily down at him. 

Eskel hums, but takes him at his word, continuing the gentle, steady push. Jaskier starts to pant, hands clenching and unclenching on Eskel’s shoulder and chest, thighs trembling. When his ass finally presses against Eskel’s hips he whines through his teeth.

“You okay?” Eskel asks softly.

“Been a bit, s’all,” Jaskier laughs, breathy and weak. “ _ Fuck, _ you feel so fucking good.”

Eskel just groans, hips shifting just a little, making Jaskier whimper. “You, too,” he says, and when Jaskier meets his eyes they’re  _ burning, _ a mix of possessive lust and awe painted over his features.

“Fuck,” Jaskier hisses, and bends down to kiss him. The movement shifts them, and he moans right into Eskel’s mouth, starting to roll his hips, just little shifting swivels. Eskel’s growl vibrates down his bones.

The grip his Witcher has on his hips is probably going to bruise, but Jaskier doesn’t care, just breaking the kiss to sit up and start to move properly. Eskel helps, keeping a lot of the strain off of Jaskier’s thighs and knees by lifting him, matching Jaskier’s pace with his own hips. It’s not hard or rough but it’s not slow, either, and Jaskier digs little scratches into Eskel’s chest when he leans back just enough, the angle  _ perfect. _

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, head tipping back. “Fuck, yes,  _ please. _ ”

Eskel moves a little faster, thrust shortening so that each one feels like a punch, and Jaskier whines. When Eskel lets go of one of his hips to grasp at his cock, he’s done for, spilling over with a punched out little scream.

“Ah, ah,  _ fuck. _ ” His body jolts with each of Eskel’s continued thrusts but he doesn’t stop him. Instead, he just leans down and kisses the Witcher, feeling the way his breathing changes, the little snarls that spill out when Eskel starts to come. “Yeah, fuck, Eskel, please.”

“ _ Jaskier. _ ” 

“Feel so fucking good, darling,” Jaskier mumbles, mouth smearing over Eskel’s jaw. He flicks his tongue against the line of a scar. “Mm, keep going if you want.”

Eskel makes a short, choked little sound, and Jaskier feels the way his cock twitches. “You sure?”

“Mhm. I’ll need a bit of time before I can fuck you, anyway.”

The noise Eskel makes at that is nearly inhuman, and his next thrust is hard enough to shift the bed slightly. Jaskier laughs breathlessly and braces against the Witcher’s chest again.

“You look so good like this,” he says, losing his breath when the head of Eskel’s cock glances off his prostate. “Fuck, yes –  _ gods, _ Eskel, you’re so fucking perfect.”

Eskel just grunts, and in a well-practiced move, flips them over so Jaskier is beneath him. 

Jaskier laughs breathlessly and just shifts his legs wide to accept Eskel’s bulk between them, and whines when Eskel pushes back inside. 

“Love you,” he slurs.

Eskel buries his face into Jaskier’s throat, inhaling deep and ragged. “Love you, too.”

* * *

Jaskier wakes the next morning feeling pleasantly sore and very warm. Eskel’s got two arms and one leg around him, laying plastered to his back, his face buried in Jaskier’s neck. 

As soon as Jaskier starts to shift awake, Eskel wakes, too. He nuzzles his face further into the crook of Jaskier’s neck and makes a soft rumbling sound. Jaskier chuckles sleepily and tips his head further back against Eskels shoulder.

“Morning,” he mumbles. 

Eskel just gives that same rumbling sound and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to Jaskier’s pulse. Jaskier hums and turns his head to nuzzle at Eskel’s hair. 

They stay like that for a while. Jaskier dozes and occasionally fiddles with Eskel’s fingers on his chest; Eskel makes soft, sleepy noises and kisses up and down his neck. Eventually, though, the sun shining through the windows goes from weak, grey dawn to the golden flood of noon, and they’re forced to separate and get ready to face the day. 

That doesn’t stop Eskel from catching him by the waist every time they pass one another as they move around the room and kissing him, deep and sweet. Jaskier has no protests, and may in fact cross in Eskel’s path more than strictly necessary.

When they’re dressed and packed, they go down for a very late breakfast. Jaskier pointedly ignores the knowing look one of the barmaids gives him, and sticks his tongue out at Eskel when he nudges against him playfully.

“Just south?” Eskel confirms, once their food is finished. 

Jaskier wipes his mouth and nods. “I just need to start heading toward Beauclair to make it for the midsummer festival.”

Eskel nods. “Let’s go, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter has Things happening!!!


	5. chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They plan to head south as agreed._
> 
> Eskel has a close call on a hunt, and Jaskier finishes his song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy winter solstice, bitchin' yule, and merry christmas! or for those who don't celebrate, happy friday! a discord bot decided i could post this chapter a few days early :D
> 
> (if you'd like to see me and kate make more decisions using discord bots and/or yell with me about things - as well as yelling with other people about witchersexual jaskier - [join the BIKM!](https://discord.gg/8PMgsKjCTR) 18+ and absolutely NSFW ever. there's a whole channel for this series where i post the links to new chapters and talk to people.)
> 
> also thank you to inex, who is a wonderful bean and came up with some poetry for me to use as the "lyrics" for eskel's song, since i can't write lyrics for shit and my poetry is all freeform ~~and about religious trauma whoops.~~

They plan to head south as agreed, down through Anchor and then Dorian, but just after they leave Mirthe they’re stopped by a ragged-looking merchant.

“Witcher, Witcher, please,” he’s shouting as he stumbles down the road toward them, and Eskel pulls Scorpion to a sharp stop but doesn’t dismount. With a jerk of his head, he motions for Jaskier to move to the stallion’s other side.

Jaskier frowns but does so; he understands the suspicion – he’s seen more than one attempt to trap Geralt by appealing to his empathy – but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

The merchant finally catches up, looking even more haggard up close. His clothes are worn, and they’ve been patched so many times they’re more patch than anything else. His face is thin and sunken and even just a half-mile or less of running has winded him entirely, so much that they have to wait an additional ten minutes for him to catch his breath.

“Master Witcher,” he finally wheezes. “We need your help.”

“Who is we?” Eskel’s hand relaxes from the hilt of a dagger at his waist, but he still doesn’t dismount or move toward the man.

“My family, my village,” the merchant clarifies. “Oar’s Rest, small place just outside of Velen, in the swamp. There’s something taking our children.”

Eskel glances back to Jaskier, who shrugs. Eskel sighs, seems to consider for a moment, and finally dismounts. 

“What can you tell me?”

* * *

After a lengthy discussion with the merchant, they change direction and head toward Oar’s Rest. 

“What do you think it is?” Jaskier asks, once the merchant is out of earshot, returned to his wagon to continue on his path. “Nothing he said seemed to make sense.”

“It didn’t,” Eskel answers, walking beside him now instead of riding for the moment. “But he talked about singing, and nightmares, which is enough for me to think bruxae. Not sure why it’s just children going missing, but it’s not like higher vampires aren’t capable of eccentricities just like humans.”

Jaskier hums in agreement. “Like deciding to take up residence in a royal court.”

Eskel snorts. “Yeah, like that. You know, you never did tell us much more about that story – what happened?”

“Not much more after what Ciri said, really,” Jaskier replies, flushing slightly. “I got Ciri to run, the bruxa tried to attack me, I stabbed her, and took off running so she’d follow me instead of Ciri. She about got me, too, but Coën got there quickly enough to behead her.”

The Witcher snorts again. “You tell these stories like it’s nothing,” he says, when Jaskier makes a questioning noise. “But you’re  _ human, _ Jaskier. Besting a bruxa with nothing but a silver-coated dagger and a chase is no small feat.”

Jaskier flushes again. “Yeah, well, I’ve had some practice with monsters, unlike most humans.”

“Fair enough.”

* * *

It takes them just over two days to get to Oak’s Rest, with a stop to sleep just before they reach the far edge of the swamp that the village and Velen beyond are mired in. They’re greeted at the village by an old hedgewitch and what appears to be her much younger apprentice, a girl of maybe ten who hides behind the witch’s skirts when Eskel approaches.

“I met with a merchant named Mihail on the road from Mirthe, who said there was a monster here.”

The hedgewitch nods. “Aye. Six children missing in two weeks, nothing but bloody trails and that awful singing left.”

Eskel’s wince is carefully tamped down, but Jaskier recognizes the signs. He bites his lip and takes to studying the village around them to try and mostly tune out the gruesome discussion. It is a small place, but rather lively despite that and the tragedy that they’ve been burdened with; there are colorful flags raised by doorways, and people are going about their business in a familiar fashion, greeting each other as they pass.

He studies the flags, and the people, until his attention is caught by the hedgewitch asking for price. Looking at Eskel tells him that the Witcher doesn’t really want to name one, even though he has to name  _ something, _ and he considers butting in, but decides not to.

It ends up being a good decision.

“We have a little gold to offer, and you and your companion are free to stay in my cottage for as long as you need,” the hedgewitch offers. “It’s not much, but it’s what we have.”

Jaskier feels his shoulders relax a little, and sees the same release of tension in Eskel’s.

“Agreed, then,” Eskel says. “Is there somewhere I can stable my horse, as well?”

The hedgewitch nods. “Of course. Marie, show them.”

Her apprentice – or maybe grandchild? Jaskier really isn’t sure – squeaks, but squares her shoulders and nods before gesturing further into the village.

Eskel hums and gestures Jaskier forward, clearly trying to put distance between himself and the frightened girl. Jaskier frowns slightly, but goes.

* * *

Once Scorpion is stabled, the girl leads them to the cottage. It’s small, just three rooms, but it’s better than sleeping outside in the swamp, certainly.

“I saw a little tavern,” Eskel says, once they’ve arranged their things. “You could perform while I look around?”

Jaskier shrugs one shoulder. “If they’ll have me, I may as well. You’re still sure it’s a bruxa?”

Eskel nods. “She mentioned the singing again. I want to ask around and see if there's more than one voice people have heard, get an idea of exactly what I’ll be dealing with. I’d...prefer you stay back, for this one.”

“I thought you would.” Jaskier looks around the little cottage room they’re in, filled almost to bursting with the addition of their things plus the aging bed.

“Please?” Eskel asks, and he sounds so earnest, practically begging. Jaskier huffs a laugh and – after double-checking that Marie is gone – leans over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Fine,” he agrees. “I’ve seen bruxa fights before, I suppose it’ll be alright to miss out on this one.”

Eskel nods. “Thank you.”

Jaskier waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Go, do your Witchering, I’ll see if anyone around here needs any entertainment.”

Eskel snorts. “I’d imagine they do, you’ve seen the place.”

* * *

Jaskier does end up performing at the tavern in exchange for his and Eskel’s dinners. 

He keeps his set lighthearted; it’s not hard to spot the grief-ridden people in the small crowd, and there’s no reason for him to rub salt into their wounds with sad ballads. Despite the general cloud of worry hanging over the people, they’re a decently responsive crowd, cheering and clapping along to the songs they know, offering him drinks as he swans around the place. 

Eskel appears near the end of his set, just as he’s starting a rousing rendition of Toss A Coin. The Witcher rolls his eyes at Jaskier, but accepts the cheers and nods along as people raise their glasses to him. No one here seems to have coin to throw, which is fine, and probably better; Geralt hates when people start flinging money at him, and Jaskier would bet that Eskel would feel the same.

“Thank you, thank you,” Jaskier finishes out, after repeating the chorus an extra three times. He bows low and then swings around to the bar, gesturing to the barkeep to have their meals sent to the rickety little table Eskel has managed to snag. The grizzled man nods and waves him off, so Jaskier assumes the message has been received, and goes to join his Witcher.

“Find anything interesting?” he asks as he plops into a seat.

Eskel shrugs one shoulder and takes a large gulp of the ale in his hand. “Nothing new,” he says. “Just more of the same. I’m hoping that means it’ll just be one bruxa.”

“I hope so to,” Jaskier says, pausing for a moment when a barmaid comes with their food and more ale. “More than one at once isn’t exactly an easy feat.”

Eskel just nods, a little somberly, and digs into his meal. Jaskier frowns at him for a moment before figuring it must just be frustration over the lack of surety, and launches into talking about what happened in his set before Eskel’s arrival.

* * *

“I’ll go now,” Eskel explains, when he starts to gather his things. Jaskier resists the urge to pout and perches on the slightly dusty bed.

“Be careful,” he says, even though it’s mostly redundant. Eskel chuckles lightly, but nods.

“I will,” he promises. “Stay here, okay? I don’t want – ”

A high-pitched screech interrupts his words, and Eskel’s eyes widen before he’s turning and darting out the door. Jaskier hesitates for a split second but follows.

Another scream pierces the air, magic in the air raising the hairs on Jaskier’s neck, and he stumbles out of the cottage just in time to see Eskel disappearing into the swamp, silver flashing as he draws his sword.

Someone behind him shouts, and he turns to see a man rushing through the square, hopping to finish pulling his boots on. “Hanna!” he shouts. 

Jaskier realizes what’s going on at the same time as two other onlookers do. They all rush in front of the man, stopping his progress; he struggles, but another man gets an arm around his waist, and Jaskier catches his hands to restrain them. The third of their little party, but portly woman in nothing but a nightgown, slaps the man straight across the face.

“The Witcher’s after it!” she screeches, shrill. “What do you think you would be able to do, Idzi?”

Idzi struggles for a moment more before finally slumping into the arm at his waist. Jaskier slowly releases his wrists, staying near instead he tries to bolt.

“Hanna,” he repeats, miserably.

“I’m sorry, Idzi, but it won’t help anyone for you to go running off into the night to get killed too.”

“It won’t,” Jaskier confirms, turning to look back to the swamp, eyes straining as if he’d be able to see anything in the distant dark. “We’re better staying here and waiting for Eskel to return.”

As much as he doesn’t want to.

“Come on,” Jaskier offers to Idzi. “Stay with me, hm? We’ll wait at the cottage, and be the first to have word.”

There’s the sound of a cut off screech in the distance, and all of them shiver.

“Alright,” Idzi agrees, pushing away from the man holding him with clear effort. He turns and looks over Jaskier’s shoulder, prompting Jaskier to check, as well.

The hedgewitch is there, looking somber and sorry. “You need a drink,” she says.

Idzi makes a bitter sound. “Aye, Szarlota, I think I do.”

“Come on, then, if you’ll be spending the night in my cottage, the least I can do is provide it.”

The three of them march back across the square, Jaskier throwing worried glances toward the swamp with every few steps. 

“Just be one,” he mutters to himself. “For Melitele’s sake, just be one godsforsaken vampire.”

* * *

It’s a long night. They hear the occasional scream, and some loud, threatening thuds, but nothing more; each of them wince with each new noise and take a drink, like some kind of sick drinking game. 

There’s no more noise after about three in the morning. Szarlota announces that they’ll wait two more hours before going out to the swamp to check.

Jaskier privately cuts that time in half. He’d rather have to find the carnage than anyone from the village, anyway, and Eskel would be his to deal with.

The thought turns his stomach, but it remains true.

By the time his hour has passed, the sky is beginning to tinge grey-blue. Despite her clear reluctance, Szarlota lets him go. He only pauses to go back to their room and grab a bottle of Kiss and White Honey, just in case, and then he’s jogging out of the cottage and out of the village in the direction that Eskel ran to. 

The path of destruction left by Eskel and likely the monster is clear and easy to follow. Jaskier keeps his dagger at the ready and goes slowly, listening the best he can, even though all he can hear right now is his own heartbeat and the weak sounds of the wilds beginning to wake up with the sun. 

It isn’t long before he sees blood. His stomach turns again but he keeps going, following the flattened foliage and broken branches and more blood. More and more blood, in fact, and his grip on his dagger is beginning to get painful.

Finally, the path leads to a sort of clearing before dropping off into murky water. “Eskel?”

Before he can even finish scanning the whole area, there’s a weak cry, and when he turns toward it there’s a little girl scrambling toward him.

“Hanna?” he asks, and she nods, tears streaming down her face as she collides with his legs and clings. She can’t be more than six, maybe seven at the oldest, and she looks a mess, hair in tangles and nightgown torn to shreds, barely clinging to her. Jaskier quickly strips his tunic and puts her in it; it swamps her, but it’s better cover than what was left of her clothes. “Where’s the Witcher?”

Hanna gasps around a sob and gestures back toward where she came. “Is he hurt?”

The girl nods. Jaskier pauses for a moment, conflicted; he can’t just leave Eskel out here, but he also can’t send Hanna back alone.

“Did he get the monster, do you know?”

She nods again. 

“Good,” Jaskier nods. “Good. I need you to stay right here, okay? He looks around and finds a tree with a split at a convenient height, and stoops to pick the girl up. “Just sit right here. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? Don’t move.”

Hanna makes a quiet noise but nods, wide grey eyes still full of tears but looking clear. 

“Good girl, good, just wait for me, I swear I’ll be quick.” He sets her in the split, makes sure she’s secure, and then darts off in the direction she came.

He finds Eskel just beyond where Hanna appeared, slumped against a tree and bleeding badly. 

“Fuck.” 

The Witcher twitches toward him when he comes to his knees, but doesn’t seem to be truly conscious. Jaskier swears again and fumbles to uncork the bottle of Kiss. Prying Eskel’s mouth open is a chore but he does it, and holds it closed to force him to swallow the potion on his tongue. He chokes and sputters but swallows, eyes rolling beneath his lids, and Jaskier keeps swearing, quiet and constant, until new blood stops welling up.

“Okay. Okay, that’s good,” he mutters, and quickly checks over Eskel’s body. It’s just two wounds, one on his collar that’s not quite deep enough for stitches and then a bite at his neck that barely missed anything important. Judging by how dark his blood is and the grey tinge to his skin, that bite was probably what won the fight; he’s sure Eskel took Black Blood before he dove in. “Fuck, okay, I need to get Hanna back. I swear to god, Witcher, if you’re not here when I get back I’ll kill you myself.”

He leaves the White Honey with Eskel’s limp form, just in case, and rushes back to where he left Hanna. She’s still in the tree, eyes darting about with each sound, and she screeches a little when he crashes into sight.

“Sorry to scare you, love, it’s okay,” he comforts quickly. “Okay, come here, I’m gonna get you back to your papa, okay?”\

Hanna nods and holds out her arms for him to scoop her up. “Good girl, alright, hold on tight, okay?”

There’s a small sound where her face is pressed into his neck, something like a muffled, “Kay.” He sucks in a breath and bundles her close, hurrying back along the path he followed in, until he hits the road proper and can really run.

The square is filled with villagers when he gets there, all standing around just staring into the distance. Someone shouts when they spot him, and Idzi and Szarlota burst out of the cottage. Jaskier stumbles to a halt, teetering for a moment before he finds his balance.

“She’s okay,” he says as Idzi rushes up. “She’s okay, her nightgown was torn so I gave her my shirt.”

“Hanna,” Idzi sobs, and the girl immediately turns from Jaskier’s arms to let her father grab her. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Thank Eskel, assuming he lives,” Jaskier says, and turns to Szarlota. “I need help. He’s alive but hurt and unconscious, and I don’t think I can carry him myself.”

The hedgewitch nods, then turns toward the crowd, clearly searching someone out. “Johan! Darius! Go with the bard.”

Two boys push through the milling crowd, both clearly young but also strong. Jaskier looks them over for a moment before deciding that any help is better than none, and waves them on.

“I’ll lead,” he says. The boys nod and fall into step behind him.

* * *

With Eskel unconscious and thus dead weight, it takes all three of them to lift him out of the swamp and back to town. Johan and Darius are, luckily, even stronger than they look, so it’s only mostly the worst thing Jaskier has ever had to do. 

Once they have Eskel settled onto a pallet in the middle of Szarlota’s kitchen, she waves the boys away with a little bag of something each. Jaskier doesn’t bother to ask, because he doesn’t care. 

“He looks like the dead,” Szarlota says. 

Jaskier hums. “Yeah.” 

He pulls the White Honey out of his pocket and kneels at Eskel’s side again. Kiss has had enough time to work through his system, and the Black Blood, too; he looks much better now than he did when Jaskier first found him. It’s much easier to get the potion into him this time, with his head flat on the ground, and Jaskier watches as the grey slowly leeches away.

“What is that?” Szarlota asks.

“Poison,” Jaskier answers. “At least for anyone who isn’t a Witcher.”

“And if you are a Witcher?”

“It’s life-saving. Knocks out all the toxic garbage from anything else he’s taken.” Jaskier gestures to where Eskel is no longer pale and grey. 

“...interesting.”

“Mm.” Jaskier drags a hand across his face. “If you could get me some hot water and bandages, I can clean him up.”

Szarlota sizes him up for a moment. “Alright,” she agrees eventually, and disappears out of the cottage, probably to a well. Jaskier goes and grabs his pack to dig out the first-aid kit, smiling a little at the sight of it; so many years later, and he’s using it to help Eskel all over again.

“You scared me, Witcher,” he murmurs when he returns to Eskel’s side and starts to work on getting him out of his ruined armor and clothes. 

Eskel just breathes. Jaskier pauses for a moment to feel it, the steady rise and fall interspersed with the equally steady, slow  _ thump _ of his heart, and then continues undressing him.

* * *

Three days later, they leave Oar’s Rest not much richer, but with a week’s worth of rations courtesy of Idz, which Eskel only accepts because the man refused to let them leave without the food.

“I think I finished your song,” Jaskier tells him, after an hour or so on the road.

Eskel chuckles before grunting slightly, his shoulder and neck still sore from the bruxa bite. Jaskier whacks his thigh lightly. “Oh? Do I get to hear it, or do I have to wait for it to start circling the Continent’s taverns?”

Jaskier snorts. “I should make you wait, for scaring me like that,” he says, even as he swings his lute forward. “But I won’t.”

He fiddles with the lute for a moment, making sure it’s tuned, and then strums the first bit before beginning to sing softly. “On Ismena’s banks thronged a foglet horde – ”

“Four foglets is hardly a horde.”

“Hush! Don’t make me explain artistic license again.”

Eskel barks a laugh, even though he flinches immediately afterward, and then again when Jaskier whacks his thigh once more. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Go on.”

Jaskier clears his throat, fighting a grin, and starts over. A few notes, and then, “On Ismena’s banks thronged a foglet horde, to menace a bard by so many adored….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand now back to our regularly scheduled posting. 
> 
> next chapter is porn again! i'll warn again at the beginning of it.


	6. chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Is it a requirement for Witchers’ horses to have such big personalities, or just coincidence?”_
> 
> _Eskel snorts. “I think it’s that we get sold the horses no one else wants. Or, if Geralt is buying, he picks them out on purpose.”_
> 
> _“It is a bit odd that he has such a love for difficult cases and biters.”_
> 
> _“No wonder he never left you behind.”_
> 
> _“Hey!”_
> 
> Jaskier and Eskel spend a night under the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaand more porn! look these two are just too good together to not let them fuck, i'm sorry
> 
> (no i'm not)

They travel at a good pace, but when Eskel offers to stop in one of the towns they pass, Jaskier shakes his head.

“I want to camp tonight,” he says. Eskel quirks a brow in question, but when Jaskier just waves a hand, leaves it be. 

He plays Eskel’s song a few more times as they go, tweaking the melody until it’s perfect. Each time he sings it through, Eskel gives a little round of applause, and Jaskier can’t help the way he flushes or his giggling. When they’ve finally exited the last of the swampland and it’s just getting dark, Eskel hops off of Scorpion’s back and gestures toward the trees lining one side of the road.

“Should be able to find a good place to camp,” he says. 

Jaskier nods and follows where he leads, chuckling when Scorpion snorts and huffs at being led through trees. Eskel is careful to move any branch that might hit the stallion’s face, but that doesn’t stop him complaining, of course.

“Is it a requirement for Witchers’ horses to have such big personalities, or just coincidence?”

Eskel snorts. “I think it’s that we get sold the horses no one else wants. Or, if Geralt is buying, he picks them out on purpose.”

“It is a bit odd that he has such a love for difficult cases and biters.”

“No wonder he never left you behind.”

“Hey!”

* * *

Jaskier sets up camp while Eskel hunts, removing Scorpion’s tack and brushing him down before gathering some fallen sticks and branches to build up for a fire. It’s warm enough at night now that they won’t need it past cooking their dinner, so he doesn’t wander very far looking for wood, and instead gathers some of the spices he carries. Eskel returns with two rabbits and a squirrel. 

“Do you prefer cooked meat, or are you a savage like Geralt?” Jaskier asks, mostly teasing. Eskel laughs and settles on his knees, lighting the fire with Igni before he starts to skin his catch.

“I usually cook my food. Does he still just scarf raw meat down like he’s starving?”

Jaskier laughs and takes the meat Eskel hands him to start cooking. “He does. After so many years, he’s ruined me – I almost find it endearing.”

“There’s no almost about it, bard, you find it endearing.”

“Yes, I do.”

They settle into relative silence while their food cooks, and it remains quiet while they eat. It isn’t until they’re finished, bellies full and leaning against each other with their backs pressed to Scorpion’s saddle that Eskel speaks.

“I am sorry,” he says. “For scaring you.” 

Jaskier hums. “I know, darling.” He rests a hand over Eskel’s knee, turning to nuzzle his face into the Witcher’s shoulder. “I’m not actually mad, you know.”

“I know. I’m still sorry.” Eskel turns his head and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s hair, bringing his hand up to thread their fingers together.

“Mm.” Jaskier squeezes his hand and then pulls back, just to shift up and turn so he can straddle the Witcher’s thighs. The corner of Eskel’s mouth quirks up, and he settles his hands on Jaskier’s thighs as he shuffles a little closer. “Make it up to me?”

“How do you propose I do that?”

“Take a guess.” Jaskier leans down and catches Eskel’s mouth in a kiss. The Witcher’s hands slide up to his waist to yank him closer, and he goes willingly, careful of the wounds as he tips forward.

“Hm, I’d have thought you didn’t want me to do anything too strenuous, with the wounds….”

Jaskier grins and nips at Eskel’s lip before trailing kisses down his throat, feather-light over the bandages. “Of course,” he agrees. “That’s why I’ll be doing all the work. You just sit here,” he starts to tug at Eskel’s shirt, and the Witcher shifts to let him pull it up and off, “and relax.”

“You’re going to spoil me.”

“I’ve been trying to for years now, darling, didn’t you notice?”

He keeps trailing kisses down, still careful over the bandages, until he has to shuffle back to go any further. Eskel seems reluctant to let go of his waist but does it, groaning softly when Jaskier blows a breath over his nipples. 

He tongues lightly at the metal through each, and Eskel makes the same sound, a little louder now. Jaskier smirks, bringing his hands up to trace around Eskel’s pecs while he keeps flicking his tongue over each nipple until they’re pebbled and hard under his mouth and Eskel is panting.

“Jaskier,” the Witcher gasps, hands fluttering against the ground as he makes little aborted moves to grab at him. Jaskier just chuckles and continues, changing from little flicks to proper, broad licks, teeth clicking lightly against the jewelry. 

“Didn’t really appreciate these last time,” Jaskier murmurs, leaning back a little so he can grab at Eskel’s pecs and squeeze, thumbs swiping over his nipples in the same movement. Eskel jerks a little and arches into the touch. “They’re still just as pretty as they were in winter.”

“What about the others?” Eskel pants quietly, reaching up and tugging at his earlobe. Jaskier knows that’s not the piercing he’s really talking about, though, and smirks.

“Oh, believe me, I’ll appreciate them properly,” Jaskier promises, voice low and hot. “But I’m busy with these right now.” He tugs lightly at the metal through Eskel’s nipples and is gratified to hear him whine. He ducks back down to suck one into his mouth, tonguing at the jewelry as he does, and Eskel’s hand flies up to tangle into his hair. He grins and just switches nipples, back and forth until Eskel is squirming.

“Please, please, fuck,” he begs softly, and Jaskier takes pity. He sits back to start fiddling with the complicated ties of the Witcher’s pants. Eskel tugs pointedly at his shirt, though, and so he pauses to take it off before returning to his task. Eskel takes the chance to grope at him, his belly, his ribs, his chest, fingers rough as he tugs lightly at Jaskier’s chest hair.

“I thought I told you to relax?” Jaskier teases, finally pulling Eskel’s pants open. He gives a teasing stroke over his smallclothes before shuffling further backward and yanking off Eskel’s boots and then his own. “On the bedroll, on your back,” he orders, knee-walking over to their packs to grab oil.

Eskel grumbles but does as he’s told, wriggling out of his pants and just leaving them in the dirt with his shirt before he flops onto the bedroll. Jaskier chuckles as he clambers back over, straddling his thighs again.

“Gorgeous,” he compliments, and Eskel just makes a noise that’s not  _ quite  _ derisive, but doesn’t argue. “So good for me.”

He sets the oil to the side and then shuffles a little back again so he can bend down and press a chaste kiss to the base of Eskel’s cock. The Witcher’s hips jerk and he whines a little, legs shifting where they’re trapped between Jaskier’s. 

“Exactly as pretty as the last time I saw it,” Jaskier murmurs, licking a broad stripe up the bottom of Eskel’s cock until he can catch the jewelry with the tip of his tongue. Eskel’s hips jerk again, and Jaskier just lets his jaw relax so that the head of his cock pushes inside and up against his hard palate. Eskel’s fists clench in the fabric of the bedroll, knuckles going bloodless.

Jaskier smirks as much as he can with the head of Eskel’s cock in his mouth, then sucks gently at it, still tonguing at the piercing. Eskel makes a high, broken noise, and Jaskier hears a seam tear to his left.

He’s chuckling when he leaves Eskel’s cock with one last little kiss to the slit. “ _ Relax, _ ” he reminds, and Eskel just whimpers.

“ _ Tease, _ ” he shoots back, and Jaskier smirks as he reaches up to fondle his balls, rolling them in his palm and watching as Eskel’s cock twitches wildly. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

“Relax. I’ll take care of you, love, don’t I always?”

Eskel gives him a look that borders on a pout before tossing his head back and pointedly relaxing his muscles, fingers shifting and twitching for a moment before he presses his palms flat against the rumpled bedroll.

“Good,” Jaskier praises, ducking down to suck the head of his cock back into his mouth. Eskel whimpers but doesn’t do much more than twitch, and Jaskier hums around the head of him before bobbing down. He keeps it slow and shallow, mostly tongue, and pushes his hands up over Eskel’s hips to his ribs, his chest. 

The jewelry through his nipples is cold against Jaskier’s palms. He gropes at the muscle beneath, massaging, and a rumbling growl breaks out of Eskel as he pushes into the touch. Jaskier keeps it up, pulling his head back to tease at the piercing and Eskel’s foreskin while he leans a little more into the massage, feeling the way tension begins to flee Eskel’s chest and shoulders.

“Feel good, darling?” he asks. Eskel hums, low and more like the previous growl than anything else, and Jaskier smirks, curling his tongue around the base of his cock and then sucking a testicle into his mouth gently. Eskel shudders, one leg twitching sharply against Jaskier’s thigh that traps it.

“More, please,” Eskel pleads weakly after a few minutes. Jaskier chuckles but sets to giving him more, shifting so he’s between the Witcher’s legs instead of straddling them. Eskel spreads his legs easily, groaning, and allows Jaskier to push them back until he’s all but bent in half.

“Fuck, you look so good,” Jaskier breathes, petting down the back of Eskel’s thighs as he looks over the Witcher’s body spread out for him. “Could spend days just worshipping you.”

Eskel makes a shocked little noise, hips jerking, and Jaskier grins. “But not right now,” he clarifies, and then shifts down to settle on his belly. Eskel keeps his legs back easily, not even reaching up to hold them, and Jaskier mutters a swear before he’s nosing at the Witcher’s balls and using his thumbs to spread his cheeks open wider.

“Oh, oh,” Eskel pants, squirming a little when Jaskier noses down, over his perineum. “Ah,  _ fuck, _ Jaskier!”

Jaskier hums where he’s licking over Eskel’s hole, slow and soft and wet, and the Witcher whines, hips shifting almost restlessly back and forth. He lets it happen, just chases him when he gets too far away, still going slow and easy.

It doesn’t take long for Eskel’s thighs to start to tremble, for him to start begging again. “Please, Jaskier,  _ fuck, _ please.”

He circles Eskel’s rim with the point of his tongue, tracing over the sensitive skin and feeling the way the shock of sensation rocks through Eskel’s whole body. He does it again, and again, and again, until Eskel’s begging has collapsed into wordless pleas and then he firms the touch and pushes  _ just  _ inside.

“Ah, ah!”

Jaskier looks up to see Eskel’s cock twitching wildly above him, drooling a flood of precome onto the Witcher’s belly, and hums again just to watch it jump. He retreats a little, flickering over Eskel’s rim for another few breaths, and then pushing in again, deeper this time. Eskel squirms and whines, hands flexing at his sides.

Despite his insistence on not just relaxing like Jaskier asks, Eskel opens up easily for his tongue, and soon Jaskier is fucking him on it, following the little pulses of Eskel’s hips as he squirms. Above him, Eskel has gone not quite silent but close, all of his wordless begging now breathless as well.

When Jaskier’s tongue finally starts to get sore he pulls back, grinning at the bereft noise Eskel makes. He wipes the mess from his face and leans up to kiss the Witcher, deep and messy, while he gropes for the oil. He only leans back when he’s got it in his palm, and revels in the fact that Eskel is just as breathless as he is.

“Love you, Eskel,” he says, loud and clear, and Eskel whines softly, tossing his head back.

“Love you, too,” he says after a moment, and Jaskier grins, dipping down to press a kiss just over his heart. 

The oil is warm from the proximity to their bodies, so he just pours a generous amount into his palm and then, because he feels a little mischievous, a little line down Eskel’s balls, letting it drip down between his cheeks. Eskel jolts with a little shout, and Jaskier chuckles. Before Eskel can find the mind to scold him, he coats two fingers and presses them against his loosened rim.

“Oh, fuck. Please, Jaskier, want it,” Eskel babbles weakly, and Jaskier shudders from his head to his toes, cock throbbing where it’s still trapped in his breeches. He doesn’t bother teasing any further, just presses in, slow and easy. 

Eskel groans at the first push, hips tilting up into it, all but riding Jaskier’s fingers. Jaskier leans a little forward and mouths over the back of the Witcher’s thigh before turning slightly and biting, soft but enough to feel. Eskel whimpers and his cock taps against Jaskier’s cheek, leaving a sticky smear of precome on his face. He just chuckles breathlessly and bites again, a little harder this time.

Two fingers turns to three quickly, Eskel begging wordlessly with moans and whines but also with his body, hips shifting restlessly as his cock twitches and throbs, streaked with a mess of precome. Spreading his fingers out inside Eskel’s body makes the Witcher make a pretty, high little noise in the back of his throat, so Jaskier does it again and again and again.

He finally takes mercy when Eskel’s begging coalesces into words again. “Please, Jaskier,  _ please, _ need more, need you.”

“So fucking perfect for me,” he praises as he grabs a little more oil to slick his cock. Heedless of the mess of oil still on his palm, he plants one hand at Eskel’s side while he uses the other to line up. The head of his cock sinks in easily, practically no resistance at all, and they both whine for it, though Eskel’s drags on and goes higher as Jaskier sinks deeper and deeper inside

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s panting and squirming, back to tearing at the bedroll before Jaskier shifts on his knees and grabs both of his hands to pin them up and back, pressing their bodies flush together as he finally sinks in as far as he can go.

Eskel’s legs wrap around his waist immediately, calves resting over his ass for how tightly he clings, and Jaskier just rolls his hips. More of a grind than a thrust, but it works just as well; his belly slides over Eskel’s cock and the Witcher tosses his head back with a shout.

“Look at me,” Jaskier says quietly, after giving Eskel a moment to adjust to the fullness. “Want to see your face, love.”

It takes a moment in which Eskel clearly struggles to catch his breath and find his strength, but he tips his head back up. Jaskier hums, pleased, and shifts their hands behind Eskel’s head to prop it up. Eskel shudders and relaxes into it, hips rolling up and making both of them moan.

“Gorgeous,” Jaskier repeats, leaning just slightly further forward to tongue at Eskel’s top lip, at the scar. “Pretty face, pretty eyes. I’m the luckiest bard on the fucking Continent, having you in my bed.”

“Jaskier,” Eskel whimpers, turning his head to catch Jaskier’s mouth. The kiss is sloppy until Jaskier takes control, gentling it as he slowly starts to rock his hips in little increments.

As the kiss breaks he gets to watch the way Eskel’s eyes roll back for a moment, how his throat works around a swallow and a broken, bitten-off sound.

“Make noise for me, love, I want to know how good you feel.”

He gets a whimper for that, and then another when he picks up speed with his movements, and again, until Eskel is letting out a continuous little sound, high and weak and mostly breath. Jaskier groans softly and shifts a little to go harder, and Eskel’s legs tighten around his waist almost to the point of pain.

“Feel so fucking good,” Jaskier pants, interrupting Eskel’s whining. “ _ Gods, _ Eskel, want to stay right here forever.”

Eskel just makes a choppy sort of growling noise, fingers squeezing Jaskier’s as he rolls his whole body into Jaskier’s thrusts and clenches down. Jaskier’s rhythm falters for a moment as he pants, lashes fluttering with the rush of pleasure, but he gets it back quickly enough, and ducks down to bite at Eskel’s lip in retaliation. 

The kiss they share after is messy and uncoordinated, but amazing all the same. Eskel keeps making noise, right into Jaskier’s mouth, sharp teeth catching at his lips, and Jaskier can barely keep his own noises quiet, starting to lose the battle against how fucking incredible Eskel feels around him.

“Fuck, fuck,” he mutters, dropping his mouth to the uninjured side of Eskel’s throat and leaving a biting kiss there. He pulls one hand away from Eskel’s just to reach between them and grasp his cock, fiddling with the piercing for a moment before he starts to stroke, and Eskel  _ keens. _ “Yeah, just like this, darling, want to feel you come.”

“ _ Jaskier, _ ” Eskel hisses, and his now-free hand settles into Jaskier’s hair to yank him back up into another disaster of a kiss. Jaskier keeps stroking him, just slightly off the rhythm of his hips, and shouts into the kiss when he feels Eskel’s body lock down just before he comes.

“Ah,  _ ah, _ fuck, Eskel,  _ yes. _ ”

The Witcher paints both of their bellies and Jaskier’s palm, making an absolute mess of them. Jaskier doesn’t care, just breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Eskel’s and pant, hips jerking erratically as he gets close, too. Eskel doesn’t let go of him anywhere, from legs to the hand in his hair, their other hands entwined. He’s still making soft little noises, somewhere between pleasure and overstimulation.

“Fuck, Jaskier,  _ please. _ ”

That does it. Jaskier just sees the awed, hazy look in Eskel’s eyes before his squeeze shut and his orgasm crashes over him like a tide, leaving him gasping the same. 

It's quiet as they settle, as Jaskier’s hips finally stop twitching. Eskel still doesn’t let go of him, though, and Jaskier is perfectly happy to be kept, just relaxing down into Eskel’s body. 

When their breathing has settled, Jaskier finally shifts back up, kneeling between Eskel’s legs to look over the mess they’ve made. Eskel stretches luxuriously, clearly showing off, and Jaskier doesn’t even care; he just enjoys the view for what it is, stroking his hands from the Witcher’s hip to his knee.

“So. Think I made up for it?” Eskel asks after a moment, and Jaskier doesn’t get it for a split second.

Then it hits him. He snorts involuntarily and swats at Eskel’s belly. “Yes, you  _ clod. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more before the end of this one!!! the other fics are done and waiting to be posted (assuming we've edited them at all.........) so i'll keep up the sunday updates until i run out of buffer. or maybe i'll manage to keep writing and never run out of buffer, we'll see.


	7. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With Jaskier off to Beauclair, Eskel figures he’ll head north again, maybe skirt around Brokilon to see if there are any contracts on the coast._
> 
> Eskel and Jaskier split up; Eskel and Lambert meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i am deliriously tired so like yeet

They split up in Cleves, much later than they should have, both of them unwilling to say goodbye until the absolute last second. Eskel pitches in some coin so that Jaskier can purchase a portal charm from a local mage to make it to Beauclair in time; the charm itself will only take him to Reidbrune, but it’s better than nothing.

“I’ll meet up with you again before summer’s out,” Jaskier promises, pressed probably a little too close to Eskel’s chest. 

Eskel hums. “I’ll probably be back towards Redania by then.”

“Then that’s where I’ll go.” Jaskier looks around before planting a quick kiss to Eskel’s cheek, and then he’s stepping away and into a portal. Eskel feels the buzz of his medallion just as it closes, and then he’s alone again, medallion still once more.

He sighs. He wonders if maybe there’s something to Jaskier’s thoughts on retirement.

* * *

With Jaskier off to Beauclair, Eskel figures he’ll head north again, maybe skirt around Brokilon to see if there are any contracts on the coast. There seems to be tentative peace, with Nilfgaard in possession of Cintra and rumors of treaty negotiations between the Empire and the kings of the north. 

Instead, he ends up heading a little further south, to Brenna, where there seems to be some kind of archespore infestation along the edge of the town walls. He’d followed rumors of some kind of man-eating plant, which archespores aren’t, not really, but close enough. However, he finds that there’s already a Witcher on it.

A familiar Witcher, even.

“Lambert!”

His brother looks up from where he’s knocking mud from his boots and squints, as if his eyesight has started to go. “Eskel?”

He approaches and finds that just around a bend in the walls of Brenna, Pie is grazing. “You still have her?” he asks, mildly incredulous. He tightens his grip on Scorpion’s reins when the stallion perks up a little. 

“Yeah,” Lambert says, in a tone that clearly says  _ drop it. _ Eskel snorts.

“And she hasn’t run off?”

“Oh she runs off all the fucking time,” Lambert grumps. “Terrible menace, you are.” He directs the last bit to Pie, who doesn’t even react to him, just snuffles deeper into a patch of grass. 

Eskel laughs. “Well. Have you taken care of the archespore yet?”

“Nope,” Lambert gestures to Pie. “Need to stable her, first. Preferably away from yours, thanks, I have no need for a pregnant horse.”

“Fair enough. Want to share it?”

“The horse?”

Eskel rolls his eyes. “The hunt, moron.”

“I knew that.”

“Sure.”

* * *

Archespores aren’t a terribly difficult hunt on a normal day; with two of them, it’s practically a vacation. Between Eskel’s Igni and Lambert’s ability to hack at things with frightening speed, the archespore is done for in under fifteen minutes. They return to the alderman of Brenna for their pay – not enough for two Witchers, but plenty reasonable for one, so it’s fine – and then make their way to the first tavern that doesn’t kick them out on sight.

“Been a while since we got piss drunk together,” Lambert says, shoving into Eskel’s shoulder a little.

“We probably shouldn’t now,” Eskel laughs. “You’ve got a festival to be getting to, don’t you?”

“It’ll be fine, s’long as I make it for the competition.”

“Whatever you say.”

They order the strongest cheap liquor the barkeep has, a bottle of it to each of them, and sequester themselves into a mostly-hidden corner.

“So, you seen Jaskier yet?”

“Mhm,” Eskel takes a healthy swig of the liquor. It burns and tastes like medicine, but it settles into his blood quickly enough. “Just left him, in fact. He’s on his way to Beauclair.”

“Did he give you that?” Lambert fingers at his neck.

“Nah,” Eskel laughs. “That was a bruxa out by Velen.” 

“I was gonna say, I don’t remember his teeth being quite that sharp,” Lambert snorts. “So, hunted anything more interesting than a measly vampire since winter?”

Eskel shrugs one shoulder and takes another drink. “Nothing much. A lot of drowners, as usual. And there was the rusalka that didn’t look like a rusalka and was keeping foglets as pets.”

Lambert chokes a little on his swallow of liquor. “A what that was what?” he asks, coughing lightly.

“Rusalka,” Eskel repeats. “Except she had red-brown hair, was killing rather regularly, and had been keeping four foglets as pets.”

“I –  _ okay, _ ” Lambert shakes his head. They both drink. “Most interesting thing I’ve got so far is a fuckin’ water hag, so congrats, you win this one.”

“Wonder if Geralt’s shit luck has followed him into Kaedwen?”

Lambert snorts. “Probably.”

* * *

They get piss drunk.

Really, Eskel shouldn’t have expected any less. Whenever any of them meet up on the Path it happens, without fail. And it’s always worse when it’s just him and Lambert.

He’s not sure if it’s because Geralt is a steadying force or because his ideas are bad enough it distracts him and Lambert from more chaos.

Either way, it doesn’t take long for them to get kicked out of the tavern, and then something ends up on fire – Eskel really isn’t sure what, or how, but it is almost definitely Lambert’s fault, considering, well, everything – so they grab Scorpion and Pie and book it out of Brenna, laughing and wobbling in their saddles.

By the time they’re out of Brenna, headed vaguely in the direction of Mayena, Eskel starts to sober up. He pulls Scorpion back, until they’re at more of a trot than a gallop, and then slower still. Pie, heedless of whatever Lambert’s doing – honestly, it looks like he might be sleeping – slows alongside.

“We should camp,” Eskel says, still a little slow. “Sleep it off.”

Lambert hums, sitting up suddenly and blinking slowly. “I – yeah,” he laughs, “probably. Just here?” He gestures wildly – definitely still drunk, then, at least more so than Eskel – to the trees off to their side.

“As good as any. C’mon.”

* * *

As drunk as they are, they manage to set up camp without too much issue, tying Pie and Scorpion far enough away there shouldn’t be any surprises next spring. 

They decide against more fire or any hunting – or, well, Eskel does – and instead just share some dry rations. Lambert slowly sobers up more and more as time passes, and by the time he’s back to vaguely tipsy, Eskel is completely sober again.

“Wonder if any of us’ll be allowed in Brenna again any time soon,” he muses, and Eskel laughs.

“Eh, human memory only lasts about a decade, it’ll be fine even if they do decide to ban Witchers. Their funeral, anyway, this close to Brokilon.” Eskel gestures in the general direction of the looming dryad forest, and Lambert tips his head in acknowledgement. 

“True.”

* * *

The next morning dawns bright and early. Eskel clambers out of his bedroll and kicks Lambert’s shoulder on his way past, snorting when Lambert swears at him and tosses a rock that misses by a good few feet.

“Up,” Eskel says, kicking him again when he returns from relieving himself. “You have a midsummer festival to be heading towards.”

Lambert groans, but finally rolls out of his bedroll and staggers to his feet. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re an ass, you know that?”

“You like my ass.”

“That has nothing to do with this, pervert.”

Eskel just laughs and bends to gather Lambert’s bedroll and then toss it at his head. Lambert catches it before it slams into his face, but only barely, and swears again, muttering to himself the whole time they pack up.

Once they’re ready to go, Eskel snags his shoulder and pulls him into a hug.

“See you in winter, little wolf.” 

Lambert’s eye roll is practically a whole body affair, but he hugs back all the same. “Yeah, yeah. You too.”

It’s a little easier to split up from Lambert than it was to leave Geralt, but only just. He watches as Lambert goads a grumpy Pie into a proper gallop heading east, then swings up onto Scorpion to head north again.

Hopefully he’ll get to hunt something more interesting than a rusalka and some foglets before he and Jaskier meet up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i need to add any tags to this fic please let me know, i am Very head empty rn

**Author's Note:**

> two updates in one day! bonus points if you can guess why


End file.
